I hope you all have some fun plans for the weekend.
My chosen poem this week is one from my childhood. Mr Toad was one of my favourite characters in The Wind in the Willows so I have decided to share The Song of Mr Toad today.
The Song of Mr Toad
The world has held great Heroes,
As history-books have showed;
But never a name to go down to fame
Compared with that of Toad!
The clever men at Oxford
Know all that there is to be knowed.
But they none of them knew one half as much
As intelligent Mr Toad!
The animals sat in the Ark and cried,
Their tears in torrents flowed.
Who was it said, 'There's land ahead'?
Encouraging Mr Toad!
The Army all saluted
As they marched along the road.
Was it the King? Or Kitchener?
No. It was Mr Toad!
The Queen and her Ladies-in-waiting
Sat at the window and sewed.
She cried, 'Look! who's that handsome man?'
They answered, 'Mr Toad.'
My chosen poem today is by Gerard Manley Hopkins. Gerard Manley Hopkins was born on the 28th July 1844, he was an English poet and Jesuit priest. His two main themes in his poetry are nature and religion. He died in 1889 of what is believed to be typhoid fever. His work was largely ignored during his life but was published posthumously.
Glory be to God for dappled things -
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches' wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced - fold, fallow, and plough;
And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim.
All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
Gerard Manley Hopkins
My chosen poem this week is by a new poet for me and I chose it because it made me laugh.
I took an orange and a plum
To demonstrate the Earth and Sun;
held in place by gravity -
Our little planet, you and me.
I grabbed some grapes for all the stars
And cast them out so wide and far;
Distant suns and foreign moons
In all four corners of the room.
The wonders of the galaxy
Spread out before class 2BT.
'Where did they come from?' someone cried;
'From the fruit bowl' I replied.
I hope everyone is having a good start to September so far.
My chosen poem this week is by William Wordsworth.
Composed Upon Westminster Bridge, September 3, 1802
Earth has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth, like a garment, wear
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air,
Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill;
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will;
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!
My chosen poem this week is by the Welsh poet, orator and priest George Herbert (1593-1633).
Prayer the Church's banquet, angels' age,
God's breath in man returning to his birth,
The soul in paraphrase, heart in pilgrimage,
The Christian plummet sounding heav'n and earth;
Engine against th' Almighty, sinners' tow'r,
Reversed thunder, Christ-side-piercing spear,
The six-days' world transposing in an hour,
A kind of tune, which all things hear and fear;
Softness, and peace, and joy, and love, and bliss,
Exalted manna, gladness of the best,
Heaven in ordinary, man well drest,
The milky way, the bird of Paradise,
Church-bells beyond the stars heard, the soul'd blood,
The land of spices; something understood.
I hope everyone has had a good week so far and have good plans for the weekend.
My chosen poem this week is by the American poet and short story writer Elizabeth Bishop (1911-1979).
And suddenly the giants tired of play. -
With huge, rough hands they flung the gods' gold balls
And silver harps and mirrors at the walls
Of Heaven, and trod, ashamed, where lay
The loveliness of flowers. Frightened Day
On white feet ran from out the temple halls,
The blundering dark was filled with great war-calls,
And Beauty, shamed, slunk silently away.
Be quiet, little wind among the leaves
That turn pale faces to the coming storm.
Be quiet, little foxes in your lairs,
And birds and mice be still - a giant grieves
For his forgotten might. Hark now the warm
And heavy stumbling down the leaden stairs!
My chosen poem this week is by another new poet for me. John Updike (1932-2009) was an American novelist, poet, short story writer, art and literary critic.
The sprinkler twirls.
The summer wanes.
The pavement wears
The playground grass
Is worn to dust.
The weary swings
Creak, creak with rust.
The trees are bored
With being green.
Some people leave
The local scene
And go to seaside
And take off nearly
All their clothes.
I hope everyone has some exciting plans for the weekend. I have quite a busy weekend work wise but hopefully I will find a bit of time to get some reading in.
My chosen poem this week is by a favourite of mine, William Blake.
There is a Smile of Love
And there is a Smile of Deceit
And there is a Smile of Smiles
In which these two Smiles meet
And there is a Frown of Hate
And there is a Frown of Disdain
And there is a Frown of Frowns
Which you strive to forget in vain
For it sticks in the Heart deep Core
And it sticks in the deep Back bone
And no Smile that ever was Smil'd
But only one Smile alone
That betwixt the Cradle & Grave
It only once Smil'd can be
But when it once is Smil'd
There's an end to all Misery
The poem I have chosen today is by a new poet for me. Walter de la Mare (1873-1956) was an English poet, short story writer and novelist. He is best known for his works for children.
Slowly, silently, now the moon
Walks the night in her silver shoon;
This way, and that, she peers, and sees
Silver fruit upon silver trees;
One by one the casements catch
Her beams beneath the silvery thatch;
Couched in his kennel, like a log,
With paws of silver sleeps the dog;
From their shadowy cote the white breasts peep
Of doves in silver feathered sleep
A harvest mouse goes scampering by,
With silver claws, and silver eye;
And moveless fish in the water gleam,
By silver reeds in a silver stream.
Walter de la Mare
I still have covid but I am very slowly starting to get a bit of energy back. The reason I have chosen this poem for this week is because I am missing the sea. Whilst on holiday it was so nice to be right next to the sea everyday.
Seaweed sways and sways and swirls
as if swaying were its form of stillness;
and it flushes against fierce rock
it slips over it as shadows do, without hurting itself.
D. H. Lawrence